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She’s mine. Even if that means stepping into a new, dangerous world to let everyone know.
I step into the dimly lit pub, the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke hits me in the nose like a falling brick.
Callum follows close behind, his eyes scanning the room. In the far corner, a man with fiery red hair and a scar running down his left cheek raises his glass in our direction.
As we approach, the man grins, revealing a set of perfect white teeth that contrast with his rugged appearance.
“Mr. Davenport, I presume."
I nod. Sliding into the booth across from him, Callum takes up position at my side.
“Howaya?” he drawls, his Irish accent thick. “Heard ya gotta bit of an Italian problem.”
“Let’s cut to the chase, O’Reilly. Can you handle Vincenzo?”
He leans forward, his eyes glinting. “Oh, I can do more than handle him. I’ve done my homework, ya see. The don’s got two sons, currently studying at that fancy Omerta Academy you folks send ya kids.”
My breath catches. I know exactly what kind of place Omerta is because I attended it myself.
O’Reilly continues, oblivious to my reaction. “I’m thinking we use the lads as bait. Draw Vincenzo out, then...” He makes a slicing motion across his throat.
I swallow hard, weighing the implications. “And your price?”
“Half a mill up front, another five hundred g’s when the job’s done,” he says without hesitation.
I nod, my mind already calculating. “Done. When can you start?”
O’Reilly grins again, raising his glass. “Consider it already begun, Mr. Davenport.” He slides a piece of paper across the table for an offshore bank account.
I take it. “Thank you. We’ll speak again when the job is done.”
As we walk away from the pub, I turn to Callum. “How trustworthy is O’Reilly?”
Callum’s face remains impassive. “Not very, sir. But you didn’t ask for someone with integrity. You wanted someone to get rid of your problem. And O’Reilly is one of the best for doing that.”
I run my fingers over my bristled jaw and sigh as I think about my future wife.
Then I realize I know where she is.
I just hope Giovanni isn’t thinking the same.
Chapter 25
West
The private plane touches down at Charleston International Airport. As the engines wind down, I gather my thoughts.
Minutes later, I step out of the plane and into the warmth. The southern air wrapping around me like a hot blanket.
I slide into the black Escalade, gripping the leather seat as it moves away as if it might ground me.
My heart pounds with each bump in the road.
Hilton Head Island is a short drive away, but each mile feels like an eternity.
Finally, the car pulls up to Amelia’s former home. A sprawling two-story with a wraparound porch and well-kept gardens at the front. The blue sea to the rear.
It’s picturesque.